“O, no I am not,” replied the boy, who knew there had been a civil war not so very many years ago, and that the Texans were mostly all rebels. “I’m from Ohio.” “Wal, what’s the odds?” demanded the host. “All Northern men are Yanks, and they aint ashamed of it, nuther. I’m one myself. I’m from the Green Mountains.” “From Vermont?” cried Gus, who now began to feel more at his ease. “That’s the very identical spot.” “But you’re a Southerner now, I suppose?” said Gus, who thought that was the politest way in which he could ask the man if he was a rebel. “Do you mean that I’m a gray-back?” exclaimed the host. “Not much. All the relations I ever had fit under the old flag, and I couldn’t be the first of the family to go agin it. I’m powerful glad to see you, stranger. Put it thar.” The man held out an immense bony hand as he spoke, and Gus placed his own within it. A moment later he was doubled up with pain. The Green Mountain boy’s greeting was almost too cordial. “Want lodgin’, do ye? An’ breakfast an’ supper, too, I reckon, don’t ye?” said he. “Goin’ to stay here long?” “No, sir. I want to find a way to reach Ackerman’s rancho,” replied the boy, after he had pulled his fingers apart and straightened them out. “O, goin’ there, be ye? All right. I kin help ye along. One of Ackerman’s herdsmen is stopping with me now.” “Is it far from here?” asked Gus. “O, no; just a jump—a hundred and fifty miles mebbe. Ye’ll see lively times thar, too, ‘kase the raiders come in thar thicker’n huckleberries last full moon. Want lodgin’, do ye? Take the third bench to the left in the bar-room. O, Mose!” shouted the landlord, so suddenly that Gus started involuntarily. In response to this call, which was uttered in a tone so loud that it would have reached the ears of the person for whom it was intended, if he had been a quarter of a mile away, a young man, roughly dressed and armed like his companions, left the crowd on the verandah and came into the office. The host glanced at the register, on which Gus had placed his name, and introduced the newcomer to his guest. “Mose,” said he, “this young feller is the chap yer lookin’ fur—Gus Robbins. Look out ye don’t lose him, fur he’s so green the cattle’ll eat him up when ye get him out thar to the ranche.” Gus did not know who Mose was, but he shook hands with him, and was surprised to hear him say, in as good English as he could have used himself— “We were all green when we first came out here. I have been looking for you for three days,” he added, as he led Gus toward a bench on one side of the room. “Ned told me he was expecting you, and described you so accurately that I was certain I knew who you were the moment I set eyes on you. I am one of Mr. Ackerman’s herdsmen, you know, and have just driven down five hundred head of stock that he sold the other day.”